


The Oath

by Neroro



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: M/M, Modern Setting, Oral Sex, monster au, who and which kind will be revealed I don't want to spoil
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-19
Updated: 2017-11-19
Packaged: 2019-02-04 11:53:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,041
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12770517
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Neroro/pseuds/Neroro
Summary: A debt has to be paid and he can only hide for so long.





	The Oath

"Morning, love."

Mako groans and turns away, pulling the covers with him. He's not a morning person, never was never will be, a snoozer and a blanket hog, reluctant to leave the comfort of his warm bed to brace the misty darkness of early mornings. He feels Jamison move to press himself against his broad back and stroke a hand over his skin, draping it on his side.

"It's almost five," he says before Mako has even asked, voice soft with sleep as he places gentle kisses on his back. Mako rolls over carefully so he can wrap him up in his arms, half asleep again already. He would ask why his partner woke him up so early but he knows, knows that Jamison struggles to sleep for long periods at a time, that he usually needs to be grounded for a few minutes after waking up. Mako is used to it by now, doesn't mind being woken up like this even if it happens several times a night, it's to be preferred over the crying and shaking he would always wake to just three years ago. He holds Jamison a little tighter and feels the hands on his chest still, the hard metal of the ring on his finger against his skin a welcome reminder of how far they've come.

"Think you can fall back asleep?"

Jamison rubs his face against Mako's skin with a content sigh.

"Dunno... need help with this?" He strokes down Mako's gut and takes hold of the half-hard cock nudging him in the leg. It's a tempting offer, between Mako's work schedule and Jamison's fluctuating moods and energy levels they haven't had sex in well over a week, not counting last Tuesday where Jamison called him while he was at work, asking for pictures and stimulating conversation, and Mako had to excuse himself to the bathroom to snap a few photos and listen to his partner moan and pant into the phone, mumble a couple of encouraging endearments before hanging up and getting back to work. He had tried rubbing one out when he got home while Jamison was out shopping but it had been ultimately unsatisfying and brought down his libido for days after.

So, Mako is a little pent up, from lack of sexual attention and other reasons he prefers not to think about. He strokes his hand down Jamison’s back, cupping his ass, and tilts his head down, wanting and waiting for their lips to meet. Jamison smiles and shuffles up to kiss him, moaning softly into it and licking at the seam of Mako’s soft lips. It’s sleepy, slow, ill-tasting but warm and pleasantly wet. Mako sighs against Jamison’s mouth as dry hands stroke his chest and play with the hoops piercing his nipples.

“Don't fall asleep.” Jamison gives him a smug grin before worming his way under the covers and settling comfortably between Mako's legs. Dexterous fingers pull down his underwear and take hold of his short, girthy cock, massaging the base as he starts suckling on the bulky head with a low moan. Mako breathes deeply and buries the side of his face in the pillow. 

“I'm sorry I got home so late…” 

Jamison strokes his thigh and shakes his head the best he can with a dick in his mouth. 

“d’s ‘ine”

Mako runs a hand over the duvet, petting the moving lump before lightly pressing down and feeling Jamison swallow around his cock, take him in further and let the tip enter his throat. Pleasure, comfort, a soft tongue caressing the most sensitive parts of him. Mako can feel himself drifting a little, give in to the all-consuming warmth.

“Did you finish your project?” His head feels heavy and fuzzy, inhibitions lowered as he shifts and groans softly. Jamison works his mouth around him with a muffled ‘mmhm’ sound, presses his nose to his pubes and caresses his thighs and balls with his hand, moans as he bobs his head and hollows his cheeks. Mako arches against the bed, breath coming faster, tugs his piercings and presses into Jamison’s warmth until he tenses and comes down his throat. Laboured breathing fills the room, the shuffling of bed linen as Jamison emerges, lips swollen and hair severely tousled. 

“Could swear ya get bigger sometimes.” He grins, kisses and pets Mako’s chest as he slowly calms down. Mako is a grower, he's used to that, but some days, once in awhile, his dick feels nearly impossible to fit anywhere. It's alright though, he likes them big. 

“Ya taste real good today.” Jamison licks his lips and sucks on Mako's neck, sighs against warm skin when he feels his breath grow slow and deep. He takes in Mako's slack face as he has so many times before, his scars and wrinkles and moles, his silver stubble and plump lips, parted slightly to reveal big front teeth and a crooked underbite. Jamison tongues the gap between his own teeth and presses his face to Mako's collarbone, willing his erection to die down and let him go back to sleep. 

-

The alarm goes off and Jamison groans in complaint as Mako's warmth leaves the bed. He watches his broad back as he pulls clothes from their closet and starts to get dressed, idly rubs his crotch against the sheets. Mako turns, tired eyes falling on his writhing form. 

“Ya fell asleep,” Jamison half-complains, sleepy but still kind of horny. Mako finishes buttoning his shirt and leans down to kiss him, loose hair curtaining his face.

“I’ll eat you out tonight.”

Jamison giggles and presses his slightly chapped lips to Mako’s. “Yeah?”

“Mnn, I want to.”

“Maybe I’ll wax, want me jewels played with.”

“You know I don’t mind.”

“Yeh, but it feels good.”

Mako chuckles. “I need to get ready.” He stands up straight and goes to the bathroom to put up his hair. Jamison sits up in the bed, yawns and scratches his back before swinging his leg over the side and grabbing his prosthesis from the floor next to the nightstand. A firework accident when he was fourteen took a good chunk of his right leg, infection took the rest of his calf and knee. He was stupid, still kind of is, with stuff like common sense and reading the situation and thinking far ahead, but he understands math and chemistry and logic, thinks up solutions faster than anyone else ...when he doesn’t get himself hyped up too much, which happens quite often. His head doesn’t work right, he knows that, never has, but he can’t imagine not being like this, doesn’t want to. He attaches his leg and goes to the kitchen. 

Their morning routine can’t really be called such, vastly different and depending on several factors, but on days where they’re both leaving the house it usually involves lots of coffee and a list. Coffee, because Jamison loves it and Mako likes to have a cup to wake him up before heading out, and a list, because otherwise Jamison has forgotten half the things he needs to do that day by the time Mako leaves for work. 

Jamison scribbles on their writing pad while waiting for his partner, things he needs to get at the supermarket, things he needs to get done around the house, scenes he needs to rehearse for his role at the local theatre. Mako enters the kitchen, fully dressed and silver hair gathered in a perfect, neat ponytail and Jamison smiles wide watching him grab the breakfast he’s prepared for him. He slides the list over to Mako and starts talking about his progress on his current project, a motorized tire, he’s gotten the controls figured out and working and has deemed it done but kind of wants to maybe develop it further, make it into a unicycle of sorts? A unicycle would be awesome, he’s always wanted to be able to ride one, well he can, but like, ride one well, do tricks, hard with his fake leg but maybe if he did some work on the knee and gave himself a foot and ankle it would be easier. Mako hums and nods slightly in response, reads over the list one last time before handing it back to Jamison and continuing with his food. Jamison skims over the list and groans. Under the extra added grocery items are the words ‘new hearing aids’ along with a time and place.

“That today?”

Mako nods and stuff the rest of his bread with cheese into his mouth before brushing crumbs off his shirt and standing. Jamison tilts his head up and a quiet ‘thanks’ is murmured against his lips, he licks the seam of Mako’s as a way of saying ‘anytime’.

The rumble of Mako’s motorcycle disappears down the street and Jamison gets dressed in a pair of shorts and a t-shirt, runs a hand through his hair, pours himself a second cup of coffee to go and gets in his car. It’s an old thing, rusted, gaudy orange with black accents, bought used and customized to fit his needs, his prosthetic peg leg isn’t made for driving. He hits the pharmacy for condoms and wax strips and his favorite lube, grabs a couple of new nail polishes on his way to the register and puts on his best innocent smile when the woman at the counter eyes his purchases with a slightly raised eyebrow. His appointment at the hearing center is boring and too long, though he has to admit the experience of the new accurately tuned aids is better than he remembers, slightly overwhelming but generally positive. He gets groceries at the supermarket, pasta and vegetables and fish, toothpaste and toilet paper. He adds two six-packs of beer before heading to the check out. There’s a cop waiting for him at the parking lot, wanting to bust him for using a fake permit to park in a disabled spot. It wouldn’t be the first time they tried that, just because his car is cheap and old and probably driven by some lawless punk. Well, his hair _is_ cut to be styled into a sort of mohawk when he can be bothered and he _has_ done some jail time, but he’s also missing half a leg so that pig can fuck right off. He hobbles over, a shopping bag in each hand, and sneers.

“G’day copper!”

The officer’s eyes lower to his prosthetic leg, then go back up to his face.

“Mind helping a bloke out poppin’ the boot?” He waits impatiently by the trunk until the officer opens it for him, throws his bags in, and slams it closed with his teeth on full, grinning display.

“Ta, mate.”

He slides into the driver’s seat of his car once the cop has slunk away and gets it started. The drive home is fast, clear sky and easy traffic, one of the perks of shopping at the same time as all the housewives and seniors. Jamison fiddles with the ring on his finger while waiting for a red light, maybe he’s one of them, the housewives. He does do the shopping and the cooking and chats up the mailman when he drops something off in the morning, doesn’t have a steady income, hell he woke Mako up with a blowjob just this morning without getting off himself. He spaces out a little while thinking, spinning his ring around and around and around until the cars behind him start honking. Doesn’t matter what he is, they don’t even have papers on it, nothing official, just loving words and promises. Besides, how many housewives get to tie up their husbands and make him sing out in sweet submission. He licks his teeth and pulls into their driveway.

It’s quick work unloading his purchases and doing the few house chores he’s set out for himself for the day. He spends the next few hours watching television and reading through the manuscript for the play he’s in while eating some belated breakfast/lunch. Jamison looks at his phone, Mako should be home pretty soon. He cleans himself out and draws himself a bath with the fruity soap that Mako likes so much, bubbly and slightly pink. While the tub fills he has time to position himself on the toilet lid, prosthesis off and hips angled forward, torso bent and tongue between his teeth as he applies a wax strip to his taint. He lets out small giggle that quickly evolves into a half groan, half sob as he pulls and he remembers why he doesn’t wax, fuck this, he likes a bit of pain but this is just unpleasant and unnecessary, Mako will have to deal with him as is. Crotch stinging and leg wobbling slightly, he hops over to the bath and gets in. It’s tempting to rub one out while letting the warm water lull him into a comfortable haze but he perseveres and just plays with his pubes and works his dick over a few times to get clean. He washes his hair, then leans his head back against the rim of the tub, rubbing his hands over the inside of his thighs and up his chest and neck to make sure he gets all the sweat and dead skin cells off. He soaks until the water starts to cool then drains the tub and rinses the soap off with the attached shower head. It feels a little strange thinking back to the time where stuff like regular bathing and cooking himself proper food never really crossed his mind, never felt like a priority, yet it's been such a big part of his life that doing those things now feel alien and off and wrong if he starts thinking too much about it. 

Mako still isn't back. Jamison lounges on the couch and scrolls through the net on his phone, watches chemical experiments on YouTube and looks at things he might want to add to his Christmas wish list. He texts Mako asking when he'll be home and he gets a reply half an hour later saying that he's about to head out to his chopper. 

The kitchen is Jamison's domain. Mako can cook just fine and does prepare meals for them sometimes, but Jamison is the one responsible for the daily cooking. By his own choice of course. There's something about chopping and frying and boiling and tasting that helps satisfy a need deep inside him, a need to create and combine, change things into something else. His little projects in the garage help too but neither really feel like enough. He wishes he had a gas stove at least, or a welding station or chemicals to play with but you can only be arrested for arson so many times before people start mistrusting you, even if they were only third degree. Jamison scratches his patchy hair, tugs just hard enough on the strands behind his ear to feel that much needed pull to calm him down. Right. Cook dinner. He chops onion, garlic, mushrooms and red bell pepper, finds a pan and a pot in the cabinet and puts them on the stove. The sound of Mako’s chopper rolls down the street and Jamison smiles to himself as he grabs salmon and pasta from the fridge, then circles back and pulls out two cans of beer too. He cracks one open just as his partner drives into the garage and takes a sip while waiting for the pot to fill with water. Several minutes pass and Mako isn’t coming inside, strange, he’s already coming home later than usual, yesterday was different because he was having his old man get-together with Reinhardt, Winston and Torbjörn but today he’s coming straight from work. He’s probably just wiping down the chopper or something, that thing is like his baby, his oldest friend. Jamison takes another noisy sip of his beer and leans against the counter seductively. Any minute now, any second and that hunk of man will come bursting through the door and press his fat lips to his cheek and tell him that he loves him in his own muted, roundabout way. Except the door remains closed and his cheek dry and he pushes himself away from the counter with an audible sigh and goes from the kitchen to the laundry room to the garage with uneven steps.

The first thing that hits him is the smell, sweat and musk, blood and wet fur, then the sound of of heavy breathing and pained grunting. The moonlight shines off the chrome on Mako’s bike and bathes the garage in a eerie pale light.

“Uhh Mako, you okay, mate?” Jamison flips the light switch and his ears are assaulted by a deafening squeal, loud enough to make him crouch to curl in on himself and rip his aids out of his ears. Mako is pressed back against the wall, it has to be Mako because he recognizes the rings on his fingers and the tattoo still visible through the coarse fur on his stomach. He’s shaking, suffering, lets out another ungodly sound as his back hunches and his spine grows and bends under his skin. Blood drips from his mouth where massive tusks extend from his jaw and joins the drool already pooling on the floor. Jamison sits as still as possible. He’s not stupid enough to go over there, he’s consumed enough media to figure out what's going on, the moon is full and his boyfriend is transforming into some kind of monstrous beast, a werewolf but not a wolf, no, a pig, a boar with sharp tusks and cloven hooves and a stiff mane. It’s painful to watch him and Jamison can’t ignore his cries.

“Is there anything I can do for ya?” He hates how his voice breaks around the words. Mako focuses on him, his pale eyes filled out with dark, scared and ashamed. He grunts uncertainly and Jamison scoots down one step closer to the floor.

“DON’T!!” Mako squeals again and sways as he stands too quickly on still-transforming legs, stumbles and falls as he tries to get away. Jamison is frozen and can only watch as he crawls away into the night.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! Reactions and comments are always very appreciated :)
> 
> I hang out a lot on this discord server: https://discord.gg/gdFQkuj if anyone wants to come by and talk about roadrat (you need to be 18+ to join) we're a whole bunch of fanfic writers and artists just chatting about the junker boys and having a good time, come join us!
> 
> Hit me up at https://twitter.com/NeroroRR for sketches and fic talk.


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